


hardest button to button

by dutty (vodka)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Open Relationships, Rimming, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:17:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodka/pseuds/dutty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Liam doesn’t think it’s unreasonable to feel a bit uneasy; it’s not in his nature to be nonchalant about meeting the boyfriend of the bloke he’s been fucking for months, especially when that bloke happens to be his flatmate.</i>
</p>
<p>Or: the most unnecessarily complicated approach to threesomes in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hardest button to button

**Author's Note:**

> -Dedicated to Kendi. Ain't nobody dope as you.  
> -This is very self-indulgent. I hope it's more fun to read than it was to write.  
> -Apologies to The White Stripes for stealing the title of their song.

Liam almost drops the plates he’d been carrying over to the sink when Zayn says: “You know how I’ve been mentioning Harry wanting to visit?”

“You might’ve mentioned that a few times, yeah,” Liam replies, his voice steady in spite of his shaking hands. He’d been planning to let the plates soak in water and dish soap whilst he and Zayn had a couple beers and played FIFA (the curry they cook up every Sunday using recipes Zayn’s mum and dad had filled an old exercise book with yellows the white plates if it’s not cleaned up properly), but he’s suddenly decided he’d rather do the washing up now because it gives him something to do with his hands, and an excuse not to look Zayn in the face. 

Liam doesn’t think it’s unreasonable to feel a bit uneasy; it’s not in his nature to be nonchalant about meeting the boyfriend of the bloke he’s been fucking for months, especially when that bloke happens to be his flatmate. And he knows Zayn’s told Harry and said Harry’s fine with it since they’ve got some sort of long distance open relationship, but it’s still so weird and it’s going to be _so_ awkward, and honestly, Liam hadn’t thought Zayn and Harry would last long enough for Liam to ever be formally introduced. Zayn’d been shit at relationships until he’d somehow met Harry over the summer hols at a house party Louis’d dragged Zayn to in June, and they’ve been together ever since. 

It’s October now, and four months isn’t that big of a deal for most people, but it’s _Zayn_ , so really, they might as well be married. 

“He’s coming up next weekend,” Zayn continues. Liam can practically see the fond smile Zayn gets whenever he talks about Harry, the bright twinkle his already anime-character-sparkly eyes get. The chair Zayn’s sat in scrapes against the kitchen floor, and Liam can hear him walking over to the fridge to fetch them each a bottle of post-Sunday tea _Stella_. 

“You don’t mind him staying with us, do you?” Zayn appears at his side, resting Liam’s open beer on the counter. “Should’ve probably asked before I said yes, I just got so excited when he said he wanted to come that I told him it was alright”

“Why wouldn’t it be alright?” Liam forces a big smile. “I’m sure he’s mostly going to be in your room anyway.” 

Zayn laughs, cheeks a bit red as he swishes his bottle around. “Probably. But you really are okay with this, right? Like, I get that it could be quite weird since we also fuck about.”

Liam focuses extra hard on rubbing the rough side of the sponge against the tines of the forks they’d eaten with. “Well I always knew about him, so it’s not a big deal unless he’s the type to want to fight me for your ruining your innocence or something.”

Zayn snorts at that. “I think you’d be winning that one, mate. Haz would be rubbish in a fight.”

Zayn sounds so bloody smitten that Liam finds himself smiling for real now, because it’s just so fucking adorable how Harry makes Zayn all goofy without even being there. “Then we should be good. I’m excited to meet the man who’s managed to tame you for all of four months. All the way from London, at that.” 

“I think you of all people should know I’m not tamed,” Zayn says, flicking his tongue out and giving Liam’s arse a good squeeze, and Liam’s easy for it, already getting a little turned on. He reaches for his beer. Zayn smirks, watching him knowingly. 

The plates and glasses and cutlery are all clean, and Liam brings the pots over, puts them to soak because they actually need it, curry and rice burnt onto the metal, and then he and Zayn finish their beers and Zayn takes Liam to bed and lets Liam fuck him good and proper like he hadn’t just announced his boyfriend was coming round in a few days. 

“So you’re sure you’re alright with Harry coming to stay with us then?” Zayn asks again that night, one leg thrown over Liam’s thigh as he fills up the pages of a sketchpad with hypothetical book cover designs; Zayn’s taking Illustration at Leeds College of Art whilst Liam struggles through Business Management at City College because he hadn’t been sure what else he’d wanted to do and his had mum had been adamant about him attending uni straight out of sixth form. Liam puts down the textbook he’d been skimming through, marking his page with his thumb. 

“Yeah, I mean do you want me to fuck off for the weekend? I could probably stay at Nialler’s or something.”

“I wouldn’t want you to leave, Liam, don’t be ridiculous,” Zayn says, leaning forward to press a kiss onto Liam’s cheek, all soft lips and prickly stubble. “It’s just, I can tell you’re sort of nervous about it?”

Liam gets that warm feeling in his stomach he always gets whenever Zayn shows just how much he knows what’s going on in Liam’s head. He slumps lower into the couch, pressing in closer to Zayn’s shirtless torso. “It’s just weird, you know? I’ve never been a part of the whole open relationship thing so I don’t really know what to expect. But I mean, you know Harry better than I do, so as long as he’s not going to slip poison into my tea or something, it’d be nice to meet him.” 

Zayn laughs, poking Liam in the side with the butt of the fine-tipped pen he’d been drawing with. “Harry’s sick, I promise you’ll like him. Might be a little weird at first, but you’ll be mates in no time.”

Liam reopens his book. “I’ll take your word for it.”

And he does, but he can’t help but worry that this isn’t going to be quite as easy as   
Zayn makes it sound. At least not for Liam, because half the time Liam’s not sure if he likes Zayn that way or not; sex and feelings have always been tangled up in Liam’s head because he hasn’t been properly single since he was about fourteen. He doesn’t like being single, hadn’t until he’d met Zayn when he’d gone pre-loading at a mate’s who’d lived in the same student residence as Zayn (and Louis) in their first year.

Liam hadn’t really chatted much with Zayn that night, but then they’d got drunk at the club and Zayn had somehow got Liam to go home with him. One night stands just weren’t things Liam did, especially not with blokes, and it could’ve gone terrible wrong, but Zayn’s room had been plastered with cool drawings of comic book heroes and his ringtone was Fiesta by R Kelly, and naturally they’ve been best mates ever since. Best mates that fuck about more often than best mates should. 

It’d been easy to fall into, and by the end of the last term they were inseparable and planning to find a flat together for next year. They’d each gone back home over the long summer holiday, Zayn to Bradford and Liam to Wolverhampton, but they’d kept in touch, had drunk chats on Skype and hung out enough times for things to feel just like they always did. 

And then Zayn’d met Harry. 

Liam had been a bit hurt and a lot shocked; _he_ certainly hadn’t been shagging anyone else and it somehow never occurred to him that Zayn had been even though Liam’s always known that Zayn’s never had a shortage of girls at his disposal. He hadn’t even known Zayn was into guys outside of their _thing_ , but he’d got over it when he saw how happy Harry made Zayn, how Zayn would light up like a light whenever he talked about Harry. And it’s not like Liam and Zayn had ever been anything more than friends, the sex and late-night cuddling aside.

So it’s only natural, Liam thinks, that he’s a bit confused about how he really feels about Zayn, and he thinks Harry being around will only make him more confused, will bring out a jealousy Liam isn’t used to feeling. He just honestly hadn’t thought Harry would stick around for this long—he’s a year younger than Zayn is, had just completed sixth form when he and Zayn met and now he’s taking a year off to ‘figure himself out’ which somehow has him staying on people’s couches in London more often than not, away from his mum in Cheshire. 

Liam’s seen pictures of Harry, mostly because sometimes it’ll show up on his Facebook newsfeed thing that Zayn or Louis or random girls that somehow know both Liam and Harry liked one of Harry’s photos or commented on one of his statuses. Liam’s seen the big curly hair and dimples and Mick Jagger mouth and he can understand why Zayn would hold onto that. Harry’s cute, has a bit of a baby face and a gangly, lean body that almost doesn’t go with it, and he’s starting to catch up to Zayn with the amount of tattoos he seems to be getting.

And it’s stupid for Liam to feel this way, because Harry’ll only be around for a weekend, but he’s afraid Zayn will remember exactly how special Harry apparently is and things will change. 

“Fuck, I can’t focus,” Zayn says suddenly, throwing his sketchpad onto the coffee table. Liam hadn’t been focusing on his readings either, had forgot he’d been holding the book at all. “I’m gonna put the kettle on,” Zayn continues, standing. “D’you want a brew?”

“That’d be good, thanks.”

Zayn ruffles Liam’s hair on the way to the kitchen, and Liam shakes his head until his thoughts are clear, staring hard at his text until the words make sense. 

 

The week leading up to Harry’s arrival doesn’t feel as ominous as Liam thought it would. Zayn’s still the same, just mentions Harry a tiny bit more than he normally does, and he still presses Liam down into the mattress on Wednesday night even though Harry’ll be there by Friday afternoon, grinding his hips down into Liam’s until they both get off against each other. 

So Liam’s got comfortable again; it’s stupid to worry himself sick when Zayn’s not going to turn into someone else and Liam’s still got his best mate. It doesn’t stop Liam from being a little nervous about Harry being around though, and he thinks about it all day on Friday, tries to push it to the back of his mind as he folds clothes at his shit part-time job at Primark. 

He knows Harry’s going to be there when he gets home, but he doesn’t know how he feels about meeting Harry Styles with whom he shares at least 17 mutual friends (he knows that much thanks to Facebook). 

Zayn hasn’t texted him or anything by the time Liam’s shift ends at 6, but Liam knows Harry’s already there, and Zayn’s probably busy catching up with him. Liam finds himself wondering if Zayn’s already fucked him yet, and that’s really just ridiculous and none of his business anyway, so he gets his iPod out and listens to Bublé the short train ride home to keep his mind from wandering any further. 

When Liam gets in, he finds Zayn curled up with Harry on the couch, Zayn’s arm around Harry’s shoulders and Harry’s head tucked into the crook of Zayn’s neck, an episode of _Jeremy Kyle_ playing on the telly. 

“Liam, you’re home!” Zayn says excitedly, getting up and pulling Harry with him. “Finally time to get you lot introduced, yeah? Liam, this is Harry, Harry this is Liam.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry says, voice surprisingly deep and slow and morbid-like. But his smile’s bright enough to light up a million rooms with dimples and everything as he extends his hand for Liam to shake. His hand seems so big compared to the rest of his body, but it’s soft and he’s all big pretty pale-green eyes and wild curly hair that reminds Liam of his own when it grows out, only much, much nicer. 

Yeah, Liam can definitely see what it is about Harry that’s got Zayn so mad about him, can figure out just by looking at Harry’s wide mouth, his lips red and pouted like he’s got pink lip gloss on. There’s just something magnetic about him. Liam thinks if Harry’d been a girl he’d look like one of those models with the far-apart eyes in the magazines his sister, Ruth used to collect—a Lily Cole or Kate Moss or something.

“Nice to meet you, as well; Zayn’s always going on about you.”

Harry beams, and he and Zayn are looking at each other so fondly that it’s kind of gross, Zayn’s fingers curled around the back of Harry’s neck. Zayn’s always been openly affectionate, but Liam’s never seen him quite like this. And it’s alright for now, because Liam doesn’t feel jealous like he’d worried he would, doesn’t feel anything really, and that’s better than he could’ve hoped for.

“So what are you lads up to tonight?” he asks, shrugging out of his hoodie and making his way into the kitchen to grab a can of _Pepsi_ from the fridge. Zayn and Harry trail behind him, Zayn’s hand on Harry’s lower back like it’s possible for Harry to get lost in their small Cardigan Road flat.

“Going out to eat, I think, at that Cuban place,” Zayn says, pulling up a chair at the kitchen table. Harry sits on his lap. 

“You should come with us if you’re not doing anything,” Harry says to Liam, and Liam just doesn’t get how Harry’s so nice to him when he knows that Liam and Zayn have been fucking since before he’d come along. Liam’s trying not to be awkward about it, but he isn’t certain he’s succeeding.

He opens his _Pepsi_. It hisses and fizzes up when he pulls the tab. “I don’t want to intrude on your date, it’s fine. We can chat another time.”

“You won’t be intruding, it’ll be fun,” Harry twists to look at Zayn. “We’re going clubbing after anyway, right? We probably won’t see you til the next day and Zayn said you’ve got work in the morning.”

“You’re going clubbing?” Liam can’t help but parrot sceptically, because Zayn hasn’t really been much for nightclubs since he’d got over the initial thrill of being able to stay out all night and get pissed without having to answer to his parents the next day. He’s often held the fort whilst Liam went out with friends from school.

Zayn grins ruefully, apparently reading Liam’s mind. “Harry’s heard of some places that are supposed to be good tonight.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Harry makes to flick at Zayn’s nose, but Zayn grabs his wrist and holds Harry’s hand to his chest. “It’ll be good! You liked it when we went out before!”

That seems to placate Zayn well enough; he’s gone from looking unimpressed to giving Harry the kind of look you give someone when you’re thinking about all the dirty things you’ve done to them in nightclub toilets. Harry’s grinning big at him, teeth sunk into his bottom lip like he can barely contain himself and it makes him look all of twelve years old. Liam’s stomach does a weird twisty-flip flop thing so he just concentrates on drinking his _Pepsi_ and looking down at his own shoes.

“So you coming out then?” It takes Liam a moment to realise Zayn’s talking to him.

Both Zayn and Harry are looking at him like they really want him to say yes, and Liam doesn’t want to look like a dick, so he says yes even though he doesn’t really feel hungry and this is all so weird. 

Zayn goes to the bathroom to check on his artfully messy and already perfect half-quiff-half-faux hawk thing and Harry changes into impossibly tighter jeans and a white shirt with a neck that stretches far past his collarbones, showing off skin and tattooed-on swallows, the cross on his necklace hanging between them like some kind of contradiction. 

He and Zayn make a pretty pair, Zayn all sharp angles and Harry a little softer, broad features and an intangible boyishness that makes Liam want to ruffle his hair. And Liam’s never felt more like a third wheel in his entire life. 

¡Viva Cuba!’s full when they get there, lots of couples and large groups of friends out doing tequila shots and munching on tortillas and dip. They get a table in the back and Harry plays with the candles and tells jokes that Liam doesn’t think are even remotely funny but make Zayn stare at Harry like he’s the most perfect thing ever, poking Harry’s dimples when they’re particularly deep. 

Harry’s surprisingly good at getting Liam to relax and stop overthinking everything, the conversation between them all light and engaging. Harry is weirdly attentive, just listening to Liam go on about his classes and sort-of-funny-but-still-mundane things that happen at work, and Liam learns through slow, rambling stories that Harry’s met people like Alexa Chung in pubs in London and for some reason has Peaches Geldof’s number in his phone and the way he talks about it all is like it isn’t a big deal. 

It sounds lame, but Harry’s just really _cool_ in the same sort of way that Zayn seems cool—cool taste in clothes, tattoos, time-intensive hairstyles that look effortless but aren’t—and yet they’re both absolute dorks at the core of it, which makes them even cooler, Zayn getting exasperated when Harry keeps stealing chicken off his plate instead of eating his own seafood. Harry then starts stealing Liam’s instead, like they’ve known each other for more than an hour. Liam finds he doesn’t mind. 

Harry orders them mojitos as well as a jug of sangria, and by the time they’re done eating, Liam’s full and pleasantly buzzed. Harry gets the bill with his credit card. Zayn tells him he doesn’t have to and insists that Harry lets him tip, and Liam doesn’t say anything at all because he doesn’t know if he likes Harry yet, isn’t sure what to make of his unrealistic niceness, so he doesn’t feel too badly about Harry paying for his dinner. It’s Harry’s fault Liam’d even come out to eat with them in the first place. 

They part ways then, Harry and Zayn heading off to some club Liam’s only been to once because his mates hate it, and Harry’s heard the vibe’s amazing on Friday nights. Liam doesn’t know what to do with himself after they’re gone, but he knows he doesn’t want to be alone, thinking about Harry and Zayn and feeling jealous and confused and numb all at the same time. 

He eventually ends up on Niall’s doorstep; Louis’ out with Eleanor and Niall’s got beer and all the seasons of _Friends_ and the _The Simpsons_ stored on his hard drive. He tells Niall about Zayn’s ‘friend’, Harry spending the weekend; and Niall can tell Liam’s in a bit of a mood, so he doesn’t push it, probably thinks it’s just that Liam and Harry don’t get on, so he keeps the topic off Zayn altogether and hands Liam another beer whenever his bottle’s empty, and they end up laughing and fighting over embarrassingly passionate matches of FIFA and Liam forgets all about Harry for a little while. 

 

 

It’s after one when Liam gets in. The flat’s quiet, everything in the same place he’d left it with the lights switched off. Zayn and Harry aren’t back yet. Liam clenches his jaw. He’d been able to forget about them for a couple hours, but now it’s all he can think about, them having the time of their lives; Harry’s big, stupid hands on Zayn’s bony hips as they grind, sweaty and happy and uncoordinated to shit electronic music with too much bass. 

Liam can practically see them, all wrapped up in each other’s arms in the middle of the dance floor, Zayn laughing into the crook of Harry’s neck, only to start mouthing along his damp throat just like he’d done to Liam that first night they’d hooked up. 

And Liam can see why Zayn’s so into Harry, all charm and stunningly green eyes, but at the same time he can’t, and it bothers him. He doesn’t know what’d made Zayn think of Harry _that way_ when he’d never even once made a try at more with Liam in spite of all they’ve got between them.

But he doesn’t want to think about it anymore; he’s still got a good buzz going and he doesn’t need to fuck it up with miserable thoughts that’ll keep him up when he’s got work in the morning. He strips down to his boxers and crawls into bed, pulling the duvet up over his head. He’s not drunk, but he’s had enough beer tonight to feel good and sleepy, bones tired from being up and about all day. He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

 

 

Liam doesn’t know how long he’d been asleep when he hears Zayn and Harry tumbling in through the front door, Harry’s footsteps heavy and clumsy and foreign in a way that Zayn’s aren’t. They’re giggling and talking in harsh whispers, trying to be quiet but doing a piss poor job of it as they loudly crash into every wall and piece of furniture they can find. Liam burrows himself deeper into the mattress and squeezes his head beneath his pillow. He can’t wait for this to be over; one more night and then everything will be back to normal. 

He takes a deep breath, wills his heart to slow down as he drifts off to sleep again. But it doesn’t last long this time either; Zayn’s got music on—Drake’s _Take Care_ album that he and his mates, Ant and Danny, never seem to get sick of. But that’s not what’s got Liam up; it’s the creaking of Zayn’s bedsprings that’s doing that. The headboard hitting into the wall, loud gasps and moans barely muffled by the music. Liam’s never realised how thin their walls really are because neither of them has ever brought anyone else back to the flat, but he can hear _everything_ now.

“Jesus Christ, Zayn,” he can hear Harry cry out, and it’s followed by a particularly loud slap of skin against skin, the headboard slamming against the wall. If Liam hadn’t already been awake, that certainly would’ve done it. 

“Fuck, be quiet, you’ll wake Liam,” Zayn says, accent thicker with alcohol in his system, probably doesn’t realise Liam can actually hear him because he isn’t talking as quietly as he thinks he is. 

Liam squeezes his eyes shut, listens to the shaking bed and heavy breathing until he can hear the thrusts getting harder and faster and Harry’s moaning loudly again, breathy and deep in a way that should sound ridiculous but doesn’t; Liam’s starting to get hard, his brain three steps ahead of him and trying to piece together what position Zayn’s got Harry in, fucking Harry so good that he can’t keep his mouth shut. 

And then the noise stops and they’re whispering again, but Liam can’t make out what they’re saying. The bedsprings protest loudly beneath them as they move about, and Liam wonders if they’ve managed to break Zayn’s brand new Ikea bed. Harry gasps, a choked off noise that almost sounds like a sob, and then the fucking starts up again, the headboard knocking a fast beat into the wall that’s at odds with the slow tune that’s just come on.

Harry’s quieter this time, Liam can barely hear him above the music, but he can tell that Zayn’s talking dirty to him like Zayn always does when he’s close, slurring so that only Harry can hear him properly. Liam’s fully hard now, his dick making a tent under the duvet, and he wants to touch himself, wants even more to walk into Zayn’s room and shove his cock down Harry’s throat and see if that’d shut him up, see if it’s that wide mouth of his that’s got Zayn so enamoured. But that’s just fucked up and it makes Liam feel like some kind of sick, jealous creep, jerking off thinking about his mate and mate’s boyfriend whilst listening to them getting off in the next room. 

He kicks out from under the duvet, suddenly too hot. He can’t sleep like this, and he’s got half a mind to be a prick and bang on the wall and shout at them to keep it down. But he feels guilty enough about the kind of thoughts he’d just had, how he’s still hard from it, so he gets up, decides he’ll have a glass of water and maybe bang about in the kitchen to passive aggressively remind Zayn and Harry that he’s still here. 

He awkwardly tucks his cock beneath the waistband of his pants; it’s apparently decided it’s going to stay stiff for as long as Zayn and Harry keep going and Liam’d at least like a bit of dignity, so he pulls on his Batman pyjama bottoms, as well.

He’s got to pass Zayn’s room to get to the kitchen, it’s the last stop at the end of the corridor, and _fuck, fuck, fuck_ , Zayn and Harry’d been so eager to get at each other that the door’s not even properly shut, open just wide enough so that Liam can see more than he’d ever needed to where Zayn’s bed’s pushed up against the wall. Zayn’s got Harry facedown, his back arced as Zayn holds him steady, twisting one of Harry’s arms behind his back. Zayn’s fingers curl around Harry’s wrist as he fucks into him from behind, his other hand braced on the headboard, making it slam into the wall every time his hips snap forward. 

“You been giving this away in London?” Zayn pounds into Harry hard enough to make him yelp and grip the sheets so tight that they threaten to pull completely off the corners of the mattress. Harry doesn’t answer, so Zayn does it again, and Harry struggles to keep his balance, knees slipping apart even farther so that his arse is hitched up higher against Zayn’s hips, the muscles of his arms tensed as Zayn slides in even deeper. 

“That’s not fair,” Harry hisses from between clenched teeth, and Liam wishes he could see Harry’s face, but it’s completely obscured by his wild, shagged-out hair and the pillow he’d buried his face in. “You’ve been giving everything away to Liam.” 

Liam’s blood runs cold. 

But Zayn doesn’t say anything; he lets go of Harry’s wrist so that he can tangle his fingers in his hair, pulling on it so that Harry’s neck cranes sharply and their mouths meet, Zayn’s tongue licking messily into Harry’s. They stay like that, lips locked as Zayn’s hips slap against Harry’s arse, the lean muscle of Zayn’s back rippling beneath his damp skin, and Harry just _takes_ it like he’s starved for it, tugging hard between his own legs as he fucks himself right back onto Zayn’s cock. 

And then they’re breaking apart, lips puffy and slick with spit, Zayn lowering his head to sink his teeth into the crook of Harry’s neck as his thrusts get harder, fast and erratic, so close that even _Liam_ can feel it. 

And that’s when Liam realises Harry’s looking right at him, squinting through the dark with his brow furrowed and his cheek squished against the top of Zayn’s head where Zayn’s hair’s gone flat. 

Liam doesn’t know what to do. It’s like he’s stuck there, pinned to the ground by Harry’s gaze. He can feel himself breaking out into a nervous sweat, waiting for Harry to stop Zayn and let him know Liam’s stood watching them like some dreadful, trench coat-wearing pervert. 

“Are you close, babe?” Zayn’s hand slips underneath Harry’s body, covering Harry’s and helping him jerk off. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, and his eyes are still locked with Liam’s. He smirks, a languid lopsided twist of his mouth that makes his dimple pop, like this is a secret he and Liam are sharing. And then he sucks his bottom lip under his teeth, rocking his hips back in circles like he’s putting on a show. “Want you to come on my face.” 

For a fleeting moment Liam’s not sure if Harry’s talking to him or Zayn.

But Zayn’s already scrabbling to pull out as quickly as he can without hurting Harry, murmuring a desperate, “Missed fucking you so much.” 

Liam snaps out of his stupor, the thought of Zayn spotting him sending him into a near panic. His thoughts are hurtling at him so fast that he’s dizzy by the time he’s out the front door, standing on the steps that lead out to the narrow pavement. 

The girls who live upstairs are just coming in, dressed in unbuttoned pea coats and tiny skirts with high heels that click loudly and make their legs look miles long. Georgia, the blonde one has a thing for Zayn, always blatantly eyeing him up and down and playing with her hair whenever they stop for a chat. But she’s doing it to Liam now, giving him a good look whilst her flatmate, Rashida searches her purse for the key. 

“Expecting company, Liam?” Georgia says, tone flirty and light as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Rashida looks up, too, and her eyebrows rise beneath her blunt fringe like she hadn’t even noticed Liam’d been standing there, which wouldn’t surprise Liam at all since the both of them smell like vodka and perfume, not as steady as usual on their high heels. 

“You should come out with us next time,” Rashida says, finally managing to get the door unlocked. “Bring your six-pack with you, too.” 

Georgia laughs loudly, covering her red mouth with her French-tipped hand, and then they’re gone, disappearing behind the door with an excited peel of schoolgirl giggling and the click of the lock, and it’s then Liam realises he’d burst outside without putting a shirt on, still in nothing but his Batman pyjama bottoms with his still-hard cock trapped beneath the waistband, pre-come starting to seep through his boxers. 

He wishes it were possible to die of embarrassment.

He sits on the top of the steps until his heart’s slowed down and he manages to convince himself that Harry won’t tell Zayn, that Harry won’t even remember any of it in the morning because he and Zayn had been too drunk. 

When he lets himself back into the flat, it’s quiet but for the hum of the fridge and the light morning drizzle tapping against the windows. He tells himself it doesn’t mean anything when he sees Zayn’s bedroom door closed this time. He tells himself it’s better to sleep now that the music’s been turned off and the headboard isn’t trying to rob them of their safety deposit. 

 

 

Liam’s got just enough time for a quick breakfast and a shower when he comes back from his morning run. He puts the kettle on so he can make his tea as soon as he steps out of the bath, and whilst washing he thinks of what he’ll eat, maybe eggs and toast or cereal or maybe both, because so far he’s found overthinking trivialities whilst refusing to think about Zayn or Harry is a good approach for the day. As he’s drying off he thinks about what boxers he’ll wear and as he’s pulling his work clothes on, he settles on having toast and jam and cereal. 

He doesn’t expect to see Harry in the kitchen when he comes out, fixing himself a cup of tea in grey boxer briefs that are wedged half up his arse, the spot on his neck Liam’d _seen_ Zayn biting into mottled with a violent purple-red bruise. Liam doesn’t know what to do, wonders if he can make it to his room and grab his things and head out the door without Harry noticing. 

But it’s too late; Harry’s spun around to get the milk out of the fridge, looking startled but recovering quickly when he sees Liam standing there. Liam doesn’t know where to look; he can’t bring himself to look Harry in the eye, and Harry’s pants are tight and clinging to the shape his cock and balls, and there’s just so much _skin_ on display and Harry’s got a giant fucking butterfly tattooed across his stomach. 

“Hope you don’t mind me helping myself; looked like you’d boiled enough for two,” Harry says with a sleepy grin, running his fingers through his sleep-tangled hair. Liam tries not to look at his pale arse when Harry bends to look deeper into the fridge. 

“Uh, no, it’s fine,” Liam goes to get himself a mug so that he’s got something to do with his hands. He decides he’ll drink his tea and then buy breakfast on his way to work, because there’s no way he can chat with a half-naked Harry over breakfast when things have got as complicated as they have and Harry’s lips are still puffy, probably from a sleepy kiss before Harry’d rolled out of bed or from hours ago when Zayn fucked his mouth. 

And Liam can’t tell if Harry’s just holding everything over his head or if he’d actually been too pissed to remember Liam watching him grinding back on Zayn’s cock like it was for Liam’s benefit. 

“Could really go for some McDonalds or something,” Harry says, joining Liam at the small kitchen table after dumping an unreasonable amount of milk and sugar into his tea. “Have the worst bloody hangover.” 

“We’ve got _Panadol_ in the bathroom cabinet if your head hurts,” Liam forces a smile that probably makes him look like he’d just bit into a particularly sour lemon. He regrets not backing out of this when he’d had the chance. Everything’s awkward and he hates it, hates how he doesn’t know what to do, where to look, how to feel. And it feels like Harry _knows_ , like he’s mocking Liam for it, because Harry just stares and stares with his big, pale, far-apart eyes, his mouth crooked like he’s always on the cusp of smiling. 

Liam clearly remembers Harry bringing him up in bed with Zayn last night, murmuring: _’You’ve been giving everything away to Liam,’_ in a whiny, accusatory tone that probably makes Zayn ruffle his curls with that endeared smile. So Liam knows Harry isn’t as flippant about him and Zayn’s thing as he’d like to pretend he is, and it makes Liam feel like Harry’s playing games with him, acting nice and friendly whilst still dangling Zayn in front of him because in the end Zayn’s still with Harry even if he’ll let Liam get him off.

“You know,” Harry starts, licking his lips and curling his fingers tighter around his mug. “I’ve no idea what I’ve done to you, but you’re not being very nice. I’m hungover and I really don’t want any trouble; I thought it would be rude if I didn’t at least try to talk to you.” 

Liam’s taken aback, almost dribbling tea onto his shirt in his haste to swallow without choking. “What?” 

Harry’s frowning now, and it makes him look a bit like an angry cat, all green eyes and wild hair, his nose scrunched up. “It’s obvious you don’t want me around, and that’s fine, but don’t you think you’re being selfish? You’ve known Zayn longer and you live together! You see him every day. He’s more your boyfriend than he is mine; I just wanted one weekend with him.” 

Liam’s angry now, too, practically shaking with it, and he doesn’t know why he feels this way, doesn’t know why he feels like he could just grab Harry and shove him out of his way. Liam’s not the type to want to fight, but fuck, Harry just makes him want to lash out. 

“Fuck you,” he says, standing and emptying his tea into the sink, his appetite gone. “It’s really too early for this and I barely got any sleep last night because of your ridiculous porn star moaning, so forgive me if I’m not giving you enough attention.” 

Harry rolls his eyes, getting up out of his seat in a clatter of gangly limbs that would’ve been funny any other time. He barely manages to untangle his leg from his chair without spilling his tea. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t try. When you think back on this you’ll realise you were being a massive prick.”

Liam doesn’t turn to watch Harry go. He can’t. He doesn’t know if he’ll cry with frustration or throw his empty mug at Harry’s head if he does. He listens to Harry’s petulant stomps against the floorboards, but then Harry stops, pivoting on the particularly rickety spot between the kitchen and the living room. 

“By the way, I hope you enjoyed the show last night. Arsehole.”

Liam doesn’t breathe until Harry slams Zayn’s bedroom door behind him. 

His hands shake as he collects his things and they don’t stop even when he’s on the platform at Burley Park waiting for the train to work, nearly dropping his phone and MetroCard on the tracks when he gets a text from his mum asking if he’ll be home later because she’d like to ring him up. 

 

 

Work is shit and Liam goes out to a pub with Louis afterwards; drinking is always the best way to clear his head and Louis’ usually up for a pint. They order chips and drinks and Liam suggests they go out, a night on the lash justifying him crashing on Louis’ couch so he doesn’t have to go home and face the mess he’s made with Harry and probably Zayn now, too. But Louis shoots his idea down with an apologetic smile, saying, “Can’t, mate. Have an essay to write that’s due last week.” 

So Liam ends up getting home by ten, taking a deep breath before entering their flat. The TV’s on, a half-eaten cup of Chicken & Mushroom _Pot Noodle_ sat on the coffee table. He puts his things down and changes into a t-shirt and track pants, and he can hear Zayn coming in through the kitchen from smoking in their pathetic excuse for a backyard. 

“Where’s Harry?” Liam asks, turning to see Zayn stood in the doorway.

Zayn frowns, shrugging. “Met up with some friends, swear he knows everyone. He’ll probably be back soon though.” 

“Oh,” Liam says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

Zayn lets himself in, sprawling on Liam’s bed with his arms tucked beneath his head, and Liam doesn’t know why, but he pictures Harry crawling on top of Zayn, wonders what Harry looks like riding him, if he looks as good as he did on his knees, looking at Liam over his shoulder, and fuck, Liam’s face has gone red. He doesn’t know what the course of action is when your brain’s turned into scrambled egg. 

“So you going to tell me what happened between you and Harry?” Zayn asks, rolling onto his side.

If Liam were the fainting type, he would’ve been on the floor with his head cracked open by now. “What do you mean?” he asks cautiously. 

“Don’t know; Harry nearly broke my door this morning when he slammed it, woke me up. I’ve never seen him so miserable before. Then I heard you leaving in a hurry and then he left too because all of a sudden he had friends to meet up with. Won’t even respond to my texts, and I know he’s always glued to his mobile.” 

Liam feels like the worst person in the world. He’d feel awful if he was responsible for Zayn and Harry breaking up, because Zayn _really_ likes Harry and Harry really isn’t a bad person or anything, the opposite really, he just confuses Liam an awful lot and apparently makes him act like a crazy person. 

“So he hasn’t said anything then?” Liam runs a nervous hand through his hair, and Zayn arches an eyebrow, sitting upright.

“No he’s not said anything, what did you _do_?” 

“We had a bit of a fight in the kitchen,” Liam says, feeling an inch tall beneath the unimpressed look Zayn’s giving him. 

“You had a fight in the kitchen?” Zayn blinks, upper lip curled. “About what?”

“I don’t know—”

“Bullshit. C’mon, man, what did you two fight about?” Zayn’s standing now, looking like he’s ready to get angry, and having two people blow up at him in one day really isn’t what Liam wants, three if you count his manager biting his head off at work because he’d been acting ‘distracted’. 

He takes a deep breath, suddenly tired. “He basically said I’ve been a dick to him, you know, because of, everything, even though he’s been trying to be nice. And I guess he was right…” 

Zayn deflates a little. “You _were_ being sort of cold, mate, but like, sounds like there’s shit you’re not telling me.” 

Liam doesn’t know what to say or how to say it, that he’d got caught being a pervert then acted like a prick, as Harry put it, and got called out. But then the front door’s closing and he can hear Harry’s bumbling footsteps, the heels of his poncy brown boots clicking like Georgia’s and Rashida’s heels did the night before, and his heart leaps into his throat. 

“Oi, Haz,” Zayn calls. “Get in here.” 

Harry pops his head in a moment later, curls shoved under a beanie, and the smile on his face falls when his eyes land on Liam. “Hello,” he says uncertainly. 

Liam feels himself panicking, and he’s babbling before he can stop himself. “Do you want me to tell Zayn or do you want to?” 

Harry looks so confused that it’s almost funny, and Zayn’s starting to get that angry look again, so Liam just blurts it out before this _thing_ becomes an even bigger _thing_ : “Look, I watched you guys, you know, fucking, last night and Harry saw, but I wasn’t sure if he remembered and I was kind of rude to him in the morning, and, yeah he let me know he remembered. And I’m really, really sorry,” he turns to Harry, “really sorry. I’ve felt awful all day.”

Harry’s stunned, but soon he’s stifling one of his big smiles, teeth sunk into his bottom lip in a way that’s starting to make Liam’s chest go tight. “It’s alright,” he says. “Just got off on the wrong foot is all. I shouldn’t have said those things to you either.” 

“Wait, what?” Zayn gets up off the bed and goes over to where Harry’s standing tragically knock-kneed in the doorway, slipping an arm around Harry’s waist and pulling him in close. “You watched us last night? Dude, that’s just weird.”

Liam ducks his head down, laughing nervously as his cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Yeah, I know, I didn’t mean to, but the door wasn’t closed and I wasn’t thinking. Terribly sorry.” 

Zayn snickers, hiding his face in the crook of Harry’s neck where Liam can still see the fading love bites. “Can’t believe this is what it took to break the ice.” 

Liam’s not quite so sure the ice has been broken; he still feels quite awkward, really. And Harry’s doing it again, that intent staring, and Liam doesn’t know him well enough to even begin to have an idea of what he could be thinking. 

“Remember what I asked you about last night?” Harry asks Zayn quietly. Zayn shakes his head ‘no’, and Harry leans down so that his mouth is on Zayn’s ear, whispering so that Liam can’t hear what he’s saying. 

Zayn pulls away from Harry with an incredulous face, but Harry just smiles at him, all endearingly smug, and when Zayn shrugs and turns to Liam, the last thing Liam expects him to say is: “Did you like watching us last night?” 

Liam chokes on air. 

Zayn continues, “Harry thinks you’re fitter in person than he was expecting, so I guess we’re wondering if you’d fancy a threesome?”

“It’s only fair,” Harry pipes in before Liam can pinch himself to see if this is a dream and he’d fallen asleep on the train. “Zayn’s been with both of us and you got a free show last night. I’m feeling a little left out.” 

Liam’s head is swimming as he takes in Harry’s full lips, the way he and Zayn fit together, broad shoulders and narrow hips, Zayn’s tattooed hand on Harry’s tattooed hip where he’s rucked his shirt up. And then he thinks of last night, of how he’d wanted to fuck Harry’s mouth whilst Zayn fucked Harry so hard he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, how fucking loud Harry is. 

He can already feel the blood rushing from his head. “ You want to do this now then?” 

“I’ve got to go home tomorrow, so now would be good, please,” Harry says, tone even and polite, and Liam doesn’t think he’s ever had such a polite request for sex before. 

Zayn laughs, flicking Harry’s nipple through his shirt, making Harry jump and shudder and bite his lip and Liam doesn’t even understand how his dimple’s still popping out.

“I’m going to need a drink before we do this.” 

 

 

And that’s how Liam ends up in Zayn’s bed, Harry sat between them as they trade swigs from a bottle of _Vladivar_ , wearing nothing but their pants (and socks in Zayn’s case). Liam passes the bottle to Harry; his stomach’s already feeling warm, and his throat burns even more when he watches Harry wince through a big mouthful of vodka down before handing the bottle to Zayn. 

“You alright?” Harry asks him, twisting around so that he’s closer to Liam. 

“Yeah. Are you alright?” Liam asks stupidly. 

Harry just smiles at him, and then he leans in, his hand on Liam’s shoulder as he licks softly into his mouth. Liam sighs and leans into it, all wariness apparently gone now that he’s got some vodka in him and he knows that Harry kisses like _that_.

He barely even registers Zayn’s hand on top of his own, guiding Liam’s hand onto Harry’s hip. But Liam runs with it, slips his hand further so that it’s on Harry’s arse, gripping on tight as he pulls Harry in closer. Harry laughs breathlessly into the kiss, grinding his hips a little so that Liam can feel how hard he is against his hip. 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Zayn says, voice gone low and rough. The bed shifts as Zayn moves closer, close enough to trap the hand Liam’s got on Harry’s arse between his and Harry’s bodies. He gives Liam an exaggerated wink as he ducks his head down to worry at Harry’s bruised neck with his teeth, slipping a hand under Harry’s arm to roll his nipple between his fingers. 

Harry’s practically thrumming between them, rolling his hips back and forth so that his arse slides against Zayn’s dick while his own rubs against Liam’s. But Zayn’s never really been very good at sharing, grabbing Harry by the jaw and turning his head so that he can have his turn at kissing him. Liam would roll his eyes if watching them weren’t so hot, Zayn still holding Harry in place. Liam’s suddenly overcome by how much he wants this, taking the initiative to push things along by tucking his thumbs into Harry’s waistband and tugging his pants down. Harry makes a pleased noise that’s almost lost in Zayn’s mouth, bucking his hips up so Liam can get his underwear past his arse. Zayn pulls away from Harry when he realises what’s happening, helping Liam get Harry naked, and fuck, Harry’s cock is _wet_ at the tip, thick and intimidating against his flat stomach. 

“Why am I always naked first?” Harry whines playfully, and Zayn laughs and Liam guesses this is a joke he’ll have to be let in on someday. “Come ooonnnn, get your kit off,” Harry snaps the elastic of Liam’s boxers and then twists to help Zayn with his.

“Such a brat,” Zayn says with a put-upon sigh that makes Liam reach across and kiss him. 

They stay like that for a while, naked and all over each other, and Liam hasn’t kissed two people at once since he was seventeen and really drunk at a party and Maz found three girls who were up for it, but he doesn’t remember it being as good as this. 

“You’ve got really nice lips,” Harry says, giving them a chaste peck for good measure, and Liam doesn’t know why but it makes him blush. “Heard you’re quite good with them, too?” 

Liam gives Zayn a scandalised look and Zayn shrugs, grinning. “Gets him off hearing about us shagging sometimes. So you gonna suck his dick or what?” 

Harry bats his eyelashes imploringly, flashing a pretty smile that’s all teeth, and it should be ridiculous, but fuck Liam’s between his legs before he can even think twice about how surreal this all is, holding Harry’s thighs open as he slides his mouth down his cock.

“Oh shit,” Harry gasps, fingers grappling to pull at Liam’s short hair. 

“Told you,” Liam hears Zayn say, and he looks up, feels his own cock give an interested throb because Zayn’s sat behind Harry, his legs on either side of Harry’s torso and his chin tucked over his shoulder, and they’re both watching intently as Liam sucks Harry off. He feels exposed in a way he’s not used to, and it’s only making this whole thing hotter, making Liam scared he’ll come before anyone even touches him. 

He closes his eyes, focuses on the feel and taste of Harry against his tongue, how his inner thighs jump beneath Liam’ fingers and his hips hitch up every so often accompanied by a moan that’s so deep in his throat that it’s barely audible. 

“How’s he taste?” Zayn’s talking again, and Liam looks up to see he’s playing with Harry’s nipples, thumbing and pinching until they’re flushed and hard, which is obviously some kind of _thing_ for them, because he doesn’t really do it to Liam. But then again, Harry’s barely holding it together, shaking and working his hips faster and faster into Liam’s face, eyes squeezed shut, so wet Liam can taste him in his spit. He pulls off, flicks his tongue into the slit, which makes Harry gasp and shudder, biting into his own fist. 

“Better than you,” he answers, voice raspy from the way Harry’d been hammering at his throat. 

Harry snorts and Zayn flips him off. “All he eats his fruit; makes him taste pretty good.” 

Harry manages to look offended. “That’s not why I eat a lot of fruit, Malik.” 

Zayn kisses the tip of his nose. “I’m just saying.” And then he gives Harry’s nipple a cruel twist that makes Liam cringe but makes Harry do the opposite, arching his back and swearing blindly at the ceiling like he’s a second away from coming. He grabs Liam by the back of the head, fucking right back into his mouth. Liam nearly chokes with how hard Harry’s cock hits the back of his throat, his nose pressed flush against the hair at the base of his cock. And then Liam’s being pushed off, the heel of Zayn’s palm pressed into his forehead, his other hand gripping Harry’s cock as Harry frantically fucks into his fist. 

“Gonna come on those lips, yeah?” Zayn murmurs into Harry’s ear, loud enough for Liam to hear, but he’s looking right into Liam’s eyes. And Liam can’t do anything but watch Zayn getting Harry off, pulling his foreskin up over the pink of his head and then back down again, hands slick with Liam’s spit and Harry’s own slick, and then Harry’s coming with a yell, warmth hitting Liam on his open mouth, dripping onto his neck and chin. He can feel the aftershocks of it, the muscle of Harry’s lean thighs jumping beneath his hands where he’s still holding on tight. 

“Jesus,” Harry slumps against Zayn’s chest. 

Liam wipes himself off with Zayn’s Spiderman shirt while Zayn’s busy making out with Harry, running his fingers through his curls. Liam’s so fucking hard it’s unpleasant now, his stomach starting to ache as he watches them, Harry’s cock still half-hard against his belly, his legs shamelessly splayed open so that Liam’s got a clear view of fucking _everything_.

And then Zayn’s moving back so that he’s up against the headboard, Harry crawling after him, and Liam shamelessly watches his arse as he moves, getting fleeting glimpses of the pink of his arsehole. Harry pulls Zayn’s legs up over his shoulders, and Liam can tell he’s licking Zayn out, his head too low for him to be sucking Zayn’s cock, and Liam doesn’t know why he’s so into that, because it’s never been something he’s ever wanted to try, joining them on the bed so he can have a closer look at Harry’s tongue flicking against Zayn’s hole. 

“You wanna fuck him?” It takes Liam a moment to realise Zayn’s talking to him, nonchalant like Harry’s not even there despite the tight grip Zayn’s got on his hair, fucking his tongue into him. 

Liam nods, his throat suddenly too dry. 

“Well, you know where everything is,” Zayn says, and then his attention’s back on Harry. “Alright, enough of that, wanna fuck your mouth while Liam fucks you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Yeah,” Harry answers, mouthing at Zayn’s sac and licking his way up his cock. 

Liam hurriedly gets a few packets of lube and a Durex out of Zayn’s dresser. He climbs onto the bed, watching Zayn watch Harry’s head bobbing slowly up and down his cock. 

“Hurry up and get in him,” Zayn says to Liam, and Harry moans, and Liam imagines how good it must feel with the way Zayn’s eyes flutter shut. 

Liam holds Harry open, thumb pulling against his rim just enough for it to burn. He doesn’t know how he manages to get his fingers slick without making a mess, because his hands are shaking; Harry looks so fucking good like this, broad shoulders and a lean back, his arse tight and round. He moans around Zayn’s cock when Liam slide his middle finger up him, still holding him open because he can’t seem to stop _looking_. 

Harry rocks back onto it and it urges Liam to get another in him, fucking him nice and slow and working him open until Harry has to let Zayn slide of his mouth and whine, “Come on, just fuck me.” 

So Liam does, almost tearing the condom in his haste to get it on. He can’t help but tease Harry, rubbing the head of his cock along his crack, slapping it against his hole until it’s Zayn who’s yelling at him to hurry it up this time. So Liam braces himself over Harry’s back, a hand on Zayn’s knee as he slides in, and Harry just takes it, takes it just like he’d done with Zayn, but this time Liam can _feel_ how tight and slick and hot he is. It’s almost too much. 

“Feels good, innit?” Zayn laughs, and Liam doesn’t know if he’s talking to him or Harry, watching him pull his cock out of Harry’s mouth, rubbing the head along his jaw before pushing back in and gagging him with it. And Harry just lets him, watching him with glassy eyes as he rolls his hips onto Liam’s cock, clenching and unclenching and driving Liam mad.

“Gonna come soon,” he says, and Zayn’s fingers are suddenly curling around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss as he fucks into Harry hard enough to start pressing hipbone-shaped bruises onto his arse, coming with a groan against Zayn’s smirking mouth. 

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, and he stays there, braced on top of Harry’s back until he can find the energy to pull out. He’s barely managed to get the condom off before Zayn’s taking his place, rolling Harry onto his back and pulling his legs up over the crook of his elbows and sliding in bare. It’s hard and fast, almost looks like it’s too much for Harry with the way he bites into his bottom lip, eyes bright and wet, a hand braced on Zayn’s chest. But Zayn doesn’t stop, just keeps screwing into Harry.

“Oh god,” Harry gasps, and Liam’s mesmerised as he watches Zayn fuck the come right out of him, Harry reaching his orgasm without even touching his cock, coming all over his own stomach, his nails leaving angry red scratches down Zayn’s back. 

Zayn doesn’t last long after that, murmuring, “Gonna come inside you, babe,” as he finishes with a thrust that makes Liam certain his bed’s broken for good. 

 

 

Liam oversleeps, something that rarely happens unless he’d been out the night before, especially when his shift starts at eleven.

He wakes up sticky and tangled in Zayn’s duvet with Harry curled around his back and Zayn practically glued with sweat and god knows what else to his front. They’re both heavy sleepers, neither of them flinching even when Liam knocks a photo of Zayn and his family off the side table, although Harry snores a little louder, wriggling deeper under the covers. He doesn’t have enough time for a morning jog, but he leaves a note stuck to the kettle where he knows Zayn will see it because Zayn’s useless without tea in the morning (afternoon, really). 

He manages to think himself sick by the time he gets to work, knowing Harry won’t be there when he gets back, will probably be arriving at Kings Cross and going back to his life doing whatever it is he’s doing in London. And it sucks, because Liam doesn’t know if things are good between them, all he knows was that the sex was amazing and he wishes he’d got to know Harry better, wishes he could’ve stayed with them longer.

He’s afraid to check his phone when he goes out for his lunch break, worried there’ll either be a cryptic ‘we need to talk’ message from Zayn or worse, nothing at all. But his phone vibrates just as he picks it up with a text from Zayn that makes him smile:

_’Harry wants to know if can add you on Facebook or if that’s weird now.’_

Liam thinks they’ll figure this out alright.


End file.
